Sandeep from ND.com

[Guest guest]

My guess is we only offer up asan explanation what will give us the

most comfort in ournot-knowing.Why notIf comfort IS, fine.If

discomfort IS, fine.Why try to explain and seek either?At this point,

going down the road saying, "neti, neti"seems to be the way for this

sceptic to continueher walk. If human (personality) consciousness is

incapable of beholdingthe answer >(which I believe tobe the case), at

least I'll be able to recognize whatISN'T the answer I'm seeking ( by

discovering whatI am not), until that veil is pierced.There appears

or seems to be a dissatisfation in you when you say "Neti,Neti" is

the way forward for this sceptic.It is like, I hope this Neti-Neti

business gets over quickly and the veilgets lifted quickly so I am

bathed in white Light or whatever.Have a look.Once I shared with you

this:Do not confuse impatience with thirstWith thirst there is

yearning but no struggle.With impatience there is struggle but no

yearningWith longing there is waiting but no demandingWith impatience

there is demanding but no waiting.With thirst there is silent

tearsWith impatience there is a restless struggleTruth cannot be

attacked ; it is attained through surrender.

Eons ago..................................................The sun had

gone down and the trees were dark and shapely against thedarkening

sky.The wide strong river was peaceful and still. The moon was just

visible onthe horizon; she was coming up between two great tress but

she was not yetcasting shadows.I walked up the steep bank of the

river , the sand was cold and took a paththat skirted the green

wheat-fields.This path was a very ancient way; many thousands had

trodden it and it wasrich in tradition and silence.It wandered among

the fields and the mangoe, tamarind trees and desertedshrines.There

were large patches of garden, sweet peas deliciously scenting teh

air.The birds were settling down for the night and a large pond was

beginning toreflect the stars.Nature was not very communicative that

evening.The trees were aloof; they had withdrawn into their silence

and darkness.A few villagers passed by chatting and once again there

was deep silence andthat peace which comes when all things are

alone.This aloneness was not the aching, fearsome loneliness.It was

the aloneness of being.It was uncorrupted, ricn and completeThat

tamarind tree had no existence other than being itself.One is all

ways alone like the fireplace in the distance, like the tamarindtree

but is one aware of its purity, its immensity.For one can only

communicate when there is aloneness.Being alone it seemed to me in

that evening was not the outcome of denial,of

self-enclosure.Aloneness that evening seemed to me was the purgation

of all motives, of allpursuits, of all puposes, of all goals, of all

ends.It was also clear to me that aloneness was not an end-product of

the mind,for you cannot wish to be alone.Such a wish is only a wish to

escape.It appeared to me that loneliness with it's fear and ache is

isolation, theinevitable action of the self.This process of

isolation, whether expansive or narrow is a product ofconfusion,

conflict and sorrow.Isolation can never give birth to aloneness.The

one has to cease for the other to be.That evening it occured to me

that aloneness was indivisible while isolationwas separation.It

occured to me that loneliness is being alone but hankering for

the"other".Not being satisfied with one's state of aloneness.And if

hankering is, dissatisfaction is, aloneness is not.That which is

alone is pliable and hence enduring.It occured to me that only the

alone can commune with that which iscauseless, the immeasurable.To

the alone that evening, life was eternalIt was clear to me that

evening that the alone can never cease to be.The moon was just coming

over the trees tops and the shadows were thick anddark.A dog started

to bark as I passed a village and walked back to the river.The river

was so still that it had caught the stars and the lights of thebridge

among it's waters.High up on the bank of the river, fishermen were

cleaning and coiling thenets. A night bird flew silently.Again the

all-prevading aloneness of life.

~Sandeep

LoveAlways,

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